


A Minor Magic

by bluflamingo



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, IIHF Ice Hockey World Championships, M/M, Magic Realism, Past Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 07:57:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19372507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluflamingo/pseuds/bluflamingo
Summary: Four times Kent used his magic, and one time it was completely uselessOr: a story that's a little bit about magic, a little bit about hockey, and a whole lot about Jack Zimmermann.





	A Minor Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halfdesertedstreets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfdesertedstreets/gifts).



Kent only means to sneak out for a minute – the team are celebrating their OT win over Canada in the hotel bar and he's maybe had a little more to drink than he should have. But the last time he played an international competition was World Juniors with Jack, and now he's in Helsinki with a team full of people he doesn't really know, Souver, the only other Ace at Worlds, playing in Stockholm till the round robin's over.

Kent just wants to talk to someone he knows. He just wants to talk to Jack, for a minute, to hear his voice, even if he doesn't answer, or hangs up.

He's scrolling through his phone for Jack's contact when he hears a small, high-pitched noise. 

His first instinct is to ignore it. It's probably just a cat, and he doesn't have much time before someone from the team comes looking for him. Except then he hears the noise again, coming from the direction of the church on the other side of the street. He was reading an article on the plane about churches as sanctuaries, and his late-night brain throws up the idea of someone abandoning their child at a church, and he can't not go check.

"Hei," he calls quietly. Helsinki's not Vegas, where it's impossible to every be alone on the street, but there's enough people around that he needs to not call attention to himself, especially right outside Team USA's hotel. "Hei, um, is someone there? Hello?"

He rounds the corner of the old building, zeroes in on a recessed doorway and – yep, there's a kid there, wearing a Team Slovakia jersey, huddling into the shadows and crying.

Of course he doesn't get lucky enough to find a kid who'd speak English. He doesn't even know how to say hello in Slovakian. Kent crouches down, keeping his distance, and smiles when he sees she's looking at him. "Hi," he says quietly. "Are you lost?"

The little girl – she can't be more than eight, as well as Kent can tell in the semi-dark – just looks at him. Kent thinks about digging out his phone again, deploying google translate, but he's had more than one major mis-step with that, and he really doesn't want to wind up arrested for saying something inappropriate to a lost kid. The Aces would throttle him for that kind of publicity.

Magic it is then.

Kent reaches out with one curled up hand, the same way he did when he first had Kit. He doesn't touch, just gets close enough for his magic to work, and focuses.

He gets a wash of fear and over-tiredness and _Mama_ , the moment the little girl realised she couldn't see her parents, who'd been sitting outside of – bingo, a bar on the next street over, one Kent recognises from the red and white awning.

"Mama?" Kent offers. She nods, eyes bright with unshed tears, and when Kent moves his hand a little closer, she takes it.

They've just turned onto the right street when Kent hears a woman yelling, "Karo! Karo!" and catches sight of someone in jeans and a matching Team Slovakia jersey running towards them.

"Mama!" the little girl – Karo, presumably – screams, letting go of Kent's hand and running straight towards her mom.

Kent stands there just long enough to watch her throw herself into her mom's arms and burst into tears, then turns and starts walking away. He doesn't want to be spotted, to have to explain and maybe be misunderstood. 

He really doesn't want to have to explain that he knew which way to go because he read it with his magic – his magic that tells him, if he's close enough, exactly what would make any given person cry in that moment, a magic that sounds unnerving at the best of times, and downright creepy when he's saying it about a lost kid in a city late at night.

He doesn't look back, just walks a little faster until he's back in the bar, Jack's number still undialed in his phone.

*

They’ve just lost to the Bruins, and Aces management have just announced that they're trading Pins, who's been an Ace as long as Kent, and the trainers think Kent's going to need shoulder surgery over the summer. He's miserable, he wants to see Jack, he's close enough to drive to Samwell and now he's standing outside Jack's frat-house and trying not to remember the last time he was here, when Jack couldn't even congratulate Kent on winning the Cup.

The place is packed out, a crush of people and a wash of mingled crying triggers that he can't pull apart and doesn't try to. He recognizes some faces from last time and can pick out which of the new faces are hockey players – an Asian-American guy in braces with an excited smile, a dark-skinned guy with killer cheekbones and a riot of soft-looking curls, and a ginger-haired guy trying too hard to look like he doesn't think it's cool to take a selfie with a Stanley Cup-winning NHL captain.

And one guy who looks too small to be a hockey player, messing with his phone while Jack hunches over and gives him heart eyes.

Kent reaches for Jack, trying to feel his crying trigger. He's always been able to, even in a crowd, but all he gets is the same wash of feelings he's had since he walked in.

He knows Zimms' magic, a not-terribly-helpful ability to remember what he dreams. The rest of them though, could have anything, and Kent does not want to be outed by some college student whose magic shows them more than it should. "Can we talk?" 

The thing with Zimms being at college is that it doesn't make sense to Kent – not just that he doesn’t understand why Zimms went to college instead of the show, but that he doesn't understand college, no matter how many questions he asks the Aces who went. He wants to grab Zimms and shake him, drag him to the NHL where he belongs, wants to throw himself into Zimms' arms and kiss him, feel Jack's worst moment right then and be the good guy who doesn't throw it back at Jack.

For a moment, it's perfect.

Then Zimms pushes him away, and all Kent can see is the way Zimms is looking at him, like he doesn't want Kent there, doesn't care for him and never did, and alone in Jack's room, all he can feel is what will make Jack cry. He knows better, but he just wants Jack to hurt like he is.

"Good luck with the Falconers," he says. "I'm sure that'll make your dad proud."

He barely notices the blond guy from before in the hall, just keeps walking away.

*

Kent loves the Aces as a group, but there are definitely a couple he could live without. Starting with Carly, who Swoops promised wasn't coming out with them to watch the Cup Final. Except Scraps persuaded their rookie, Duffy, to come with them, and Duffy's living with Carly, and so here they are, watching Kent's ex-boyfriend win the Cup that he should have been winning with the Aces. 

Duffy's sitting at the far end of the bar, just on the border of Kent's magic, so that he feels how close Duffy is to crying over not being in the Final, every time Duffy drinks. It's just irregular enough that Kent can't tune it out the way he can the others, no matter how hard he concentrates on the game.

"Have another drink," Scrappy says, grabbing the seat next to Kent and offering him a glass of whiskey. Kent takes a sip, watching the last few minutes tick down. Scraps leans into him a little, briefly intensifying the wash of memory of his grandmother, who died a year ago Sunday.

"Too much?" Scrappy asks. His magic tells him when someone needs to be touched, but he still asks, every time. He's sweet like that, even if he's also dumb sometimes.

"S'Okay," Kent promises. 

They sit like that as the clock ticks down, as Zimms scores the final goal, as the Falconers spill onto the ice and –

"Oh, shit," Scrappy says softly.

The bar's erupting into shouting around them, but Kent's frozen, unable to look away from the screen. Jack always wanted – Jack always said that someone would have to be first, that it wasn't fair to be in the closet their whole lives, but Jack knew, this isn't what you do, not in the NHL, not at the Cup Final…

It's the new crying trigger that breaks through Kent's numbness, so intense he can't help but look. He needs a second, even with his magic, to see that it's not someone walking into the bar, it's Duffy, hunched over himself, hand so tight on his glass he's shaking with it. Kent can't help but focus on it, reading the trigger.

Duffy's on the edge of crying, but it's relieved crying, so deep Kent feels like he's drowning in it, Duffy's, _oh, thank god, oh my God, it won't be me, it doesn't have to be me, I can do it too, oh my god_ , echoing in his ears.

"Hey, got you," Scrappy says, suddenly closer, his arm going around Kent's shoulders. Kent huddles into him, hoping desperately that Duffy doesn't have a magic that lets him read any of Kent's emotions. He didn't know Duffy was queer, doesn't know if anyone knows. The captain part of him knows he should go over there, say something, even if he has to pretend like he doesn't know anything – the team all know what Kent's magic is, but no-one ever thinks of anything except sad crying, and he'd bet Duffy's no different. 

He can't, though. Not like this, breathing shaky and uncertain, wanting – needing – to hide away where no-one can see his face, no-one can know how terrified and heartbroken he is every time he catches a glimpse of the screen.

Kent doesn't register when Duffy leaves, just wishes he could be the one walking away.

*

Kent doesn't see Jack at all, the year after he comes out. They only play the Falconers twice a year, and Kent misses the first game with the same concussion that keeps him home for the All-Star Game, and the second with food poisoning, of all things. The Aces get knocked out by the Sharks in the first round, and Kent flees to Germany to play at Worlds and pretend he's not paying attention to the Falconers' brutal third series loss in game seven OT. Kent ends up spending most of the summer in Europe, purposely not keeping up with hockey and a little surprised to find that it's a habit he can keep well enough when he goes home that he doesn't obsessively check what's happening with the Falconers – with Jack. Swoops must notice too, because even Duffy, who quietly came out in the wake of Jack and has a massive case of hero-worship for him, doesn't bring him up.

All of which means that Kent's not prepared, taking shots on goal during the warm-up for their home game against the Falcs, to swoop too close to Jack and get a wash of _Bittle, please don't let them ask, this is weird, don't talk to me_ that nearly knocks him off his skates.

"What?" he says. No-one's paying attention to him, not even when he skates over to the boards and fakes like he's adjusting his laces. At the other end of the rink, Jack's taking his own shots on goal, giving no indication that he's one wrong media question away from retreating to a loading dock where no-one can catch him crying. 

They're too far away now for Kent to pick up Jack's crying trigger again, but Kent knows who Bittle is. 

He breaks his good habits in the locker room, googling hockey gossip sites for Jack and his boyfriend. Unsurprisingly, there's no public fights or catty social media posts, but a quick skim of Bittle's Twitter shows a distinct lack of Jack-related posts in the last few days, and there's a photo on the Falcs' Facebook of Jack out for dinner with his parents after a recent home game, Bittle noticeably absent.

"Shit," Kent says, very quietly.

Jack, of course, skates up to take the first face-off, his crying trigger jolting Kent as soon as he's close enough: _Please, Kenny, please don't, I can't, not today, not now, please_. It's a sense, more than it's words, but Jack knows Kent's magic, and he's definitely not above trying to use it.

"Good game," Kent says, not quite meeting Jack's eyes as he gets into position for the puck drop.

"You, too," Jack says, and they play.

A week later, Scraps nudges Kent in the locker room after practise and hands over his phone. It's open to a Tumblr post, a screenshot of a Twitter post announcing that Bittle's moving to New York to film a show for Netflix above an emoji-laden _say this doesn't mean the end of hockey's power couple!_

Kent doesn't read the responses, doesn't need to: he knows.

*

_And 1_

Three days before the Aces fly to Boston for the first of a three-game road-trip, Kent gets a text: _I heard you're in Boston overnight after the game. Can we talk?_

Kent's in the middle of making an off-day smoothie when he gets it, and the shock of Jack texting him, for the first time in years, makes him drop the banana he's holding. It nearly gets Kit, and petting her down from outraged yowling distracts Kent for a minute.

Unfortunately, it's not long enough to forget the text.

_Why?_

_I know you know Bittle and I broke up_

Kent waits for something else, then texts, _So?_

There's another long pause, before Jack texts, _I'd like to catch up_ , like Kent's going to buy that after so many years of silence, and then, like he did it before he could change his mind, _I miss you now I'm here_.

Part of Kent's angry - _now_ Jack misses him, when they could be playing together, if he'd listened when Kent offered – but a bigger part of him is just feeling how much he's missed Jack, how much he's waited and wanted and –

 _I'm still in love with you,_ he texts, hands shaking as he carefully types it out with proper grammar and capitalisation and everything. If you didn't want to hear that, tell me. I don't want to see you if that's true though.

There's a really long silence after he sends that, long enough for Kent to rescue his banana and make a smoothie that he's way too anxious to drink. He wishes his magic worked over distance, or over the phone – he still wouldn't know what Jack's thinking, but knowing what would make Jack cry, right now, would at least give Kent a clue of what Jack's going to say.

He ends up sitting on the kitchen floor, leaning against a cupboard with Kit in his lap and the smoothie abandoned on the counter, his phone facedown on the floor next to him so he won't keep checking how long it's been since he sent that text.

It was a stupid thing to say. It's been years since they broke up, Jack's had at least one serious relationship and Kent's had – well, okay, less relationships and more friends-with-benefits with other players, but still, he's had people. He knows how Jack feels, lie awake in the middle of the night hearing Jack's voice crack as he told Kent to leave him alone and never come back. He could have just said okay, been friends, or whatever Jack wants, but…

But he does still love Jack, and he's had to learn to be okay with that. As much as he wants Jack back in his life, he doesn't actually think he can do friends.

The ping of his text alert startles Kit into digging her claws into his knees as she streaks out of the kitchen. "Traitor," Kent calls after her.

His hands are shaking faintly as he types in his passcode. He tells himself it might not even be Jack, that it might be Jack saying he doesn't want to see Kent after all.

 _I'm glad you told me,_ Jack's message reads. _I still want to see you. I hope you still want to see me._

Kent tips his head back against the cupboard, shaky with relief, and cries.


End file.
